Can't Kill My Spirit
by GothamCentral
Summary: After her brother was accidentally killed in a shooting in front of a shopping mall, Myriam Farawi searches out her brother's killers for vengeance. She soon realizes that the shooting was just a small play in a bigger game. A war was coming to Gotham and she needed to help stop it.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm 21." She winked at the usher.

"No, you're not, hun." He shut her down and asked her to leave before he'd have to call her _parents_. That egged her. She wanted to punch him right then and there but decided not to. It was a hole in the wall but the music could be heard from her house two blocks away and deafening music is exactly what she needed.

"Fine." She said coldly and snatched her fake ID from his fingers. She started walking home when she saw an open window. What was the saying, she thought, when one door closes another one opens?

The window would lead her into the club—the music escaping from it proved that. She dragged a garbage bin beneath the window and climbed on. She attempted to jump up to grab the sill but she was too short and the bin gave in beneath her. She picked herself up, brushed the rotten apples, bummed cigarettes and lunchmeat off her and eyed the window with an intense fire. She took a deep breath, picked up the garbage bin, and put her long auburn hair in a ponytail. She stared at the window for a long minute, took a few steps back, not quite out of the alley, and ran towards the aluminum bin, jumped off it, projecting herself to the opposite wall, and from there jumped to the window. Her sweaty hands held onto the windowsill. She released a breath she didn't realize she had held in and let a light chuckle slip between her grin. She managed to pull herself up into the window and rolled onto the carpet of a dark room that smelled of weed, cigarettes, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. She stood up cautiously and used her hands to search for the wall and felt it up until she found a light switch or a door. She found a cold doorknob.

The light in the hallway blinded her. She wasn't sure where she was and quite frankly, she didn't care. She needed a drink. She followed the short hallway to a staircase that led to the back of the nightclub. She passed groups of people doing questionable things until she reached the dance floor.

"Finally!" She sighed. Through the strobe lights, grinders, and DJ, she searched for the bar. Eureka!

"I'll have a shot of Jäger." She called out over the music to one of the bartenders.

The rest of the night was a blur. There were a few moments that she remembered. Like letting some guy drink vodka out of her belly button, dancing with another guy in plaid, and being thrown over the shoulder of another guy in a red hoodie.

She woke up in her bed with a pounding headache. The moment she opened her eyes, the guy in the hoodie stuck a glass of water and a bottle of Advil in her face.

"Drink and swallow." He ordered her.

She sat straight up, "how the hell-" she closed her mouth and searched her room for a plastic bag. But the hooded man was a step ahead and placed a garbage pale in her lap. She heaved into it. She puked as much as her body would let out and more. She closed her eyes and let her stomach settle. She wiped the puke from her mouth and looked up at the mysterious figure, "Tim?"

"Drink and swallow." He ordered again and replaced the pale with the Advil and water.

She did as he said.

She laid her head back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and took deep breaths.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He snapped at her, his eyebrows furrowing. But she could sense concern in his tone.

"It's none of your business." She snapped back.

"Dammit, Myriam!" He whispered through gritted teeth and rubbed his temples.

She let out a loud sigh, "Before I get a lecture, let me brush my teeth, first. Okay?" She opened an eye and looked at him waiting for a response.

She could see his nostrils flaring, "Mind brewing a pot of coffee?" she added.

He removed his hood and nodded.

"How'd you find me?" She asked curiously, walking down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Remember my brother, Dick?"

Myriam nodded.

"He recognized you at the club and heard you yelling at the bartender." Tim poured coffee into two mugs, "1 cream, 1 sugar, right?"

Myriam nodded. "Damn." She massaged her temples, "Wait, what was Dick doing at a hole-in-the-wall club?"

Tim shrugged. He couldn't tell her the truth, "Sometimes he gets bored at the 20/20 Club, I guess."

"How long have you been back?" She took a sip of her coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

"About a week,"

"Where'd you go?" She stared at him as he sat on the red barstool by the kitchen island. "You were gone for over a year, Tim. No one knew where you went. Ives was worried, Zoanne was torn between worrying about you and trying to forget about you… where'd you go?" she shrugged her shoulders. Tim remembered it's what she did when she was nervous for an answer, like when she asked Tim for a dance in the 8th grade.

"It's…" he tried searching for the right word, "complicated" was the word he settled on.

Myriam looked at him and waited for more. When he said nothing else, she shook her head furiously. "Are you serious? 'It's complicated' is all I get?"

"I know. Typical Tim: shitty explanations for everything. I—"

"Tim, that was not a fucking explanation. That was a slogan. That was a Facebook relationship status. That was not an explanation."

"Listen, Myr, I promise. When the time's right, I'll explain everything. But right now, I need you to accept complicated." He smiled. It was a nervous smile and Myriam recognized it as a typical Tim-smile. The same one he wore when he had to leave two hours early from her birthday party in the 9th grade.

She took another sip from her coffee and took a deep breath, "fine."

"And since when do you drink?" He asked her trying not to sound judgmental.

"I don't want to talk about it." she replied quietly.

"I had lunch with Ives yesterday. He told me what happened," Myriam looked down at the table, "I am so sorry, Myr." He said warmly, "I wish I were here for the funeral."

That was a lie. Not the funeral part or about being sorry. Tim had known since the night it happened. He heard the dispatcher call for a shooting outside of a shopping mall. He didn't go. It was during the day, and Tim had the graveyard shift. Dick went to the scene and told Tim later of the names. Tim recognized Myriam's brother, Adam, on the list. Tim knew that the GCPD had still not caught the thugs who killed two innocent bystanders. It took every muscle to retrain himself from telling her that tonight he's approaching the thugs who killed her brother.

They sat in the kitchen for a few minutes in silence. Myriam scratched at the fresh scar on her wrist, probably from the garbage bin or windowsill from the night before. Tim stared at his mug of coffee.

Tim finally broke the silence, "Wanna go grab a late breakfast?"

Myr nodded slowly and wiped the tears from her eyes.

They walked a few blocks to the diner they spent their friendship at. It was tradition in their group of friends that Sundays they ate at Mel's Diner. The diner had a 60s feel to it, with classic rock playing in the background, black and white checkered floors, with red vinyl booths, and the light blue walls were decorated with old movie posters and vinyl albums. The diner still smelled the same as Tim remembered it. A mix of perfectly scrambled eggs and buttermilk pancakes overwhelmed his senses.

"I miss this place," he smelt deeply.

They sat at the booth farthest from the door and any windows.

"Hey, you're Tim Wayne!" Said the young waitress in the red and white vertical striped dress—she looked like she came right out of the diner in Pulp Fiction.

Tim smiled shyly, "Yes, I am." He nodded awkwardly.

"What can I do for you on this fine Friday morning?" The waitress asked with a warm smile that made even Myriam let out a smirk.

They memorized the menu so they were able to choose their meal right away. The moment the waitress walked away, Myriam whispered, "They're wrong."

"Huh?" he tilted his head and let his black hair fall over his eyes.

Myriam wiped the tear the slipped from her eye, "You know how they say 'deafening silence,'" Tim nodded unsure of where the conversation was headed, "Deafening isn't the right word," Myr stated, "It's more like _numbing_."

Tim knew exactly what she was talking about. He had buried family before too.

"Visitors stopped coming by unannounced to offer their condolences on Wednesday night, so it was only me and my dad. But he had to head back yesterday,"

"They only gave him a week?"

Myriam nodded, "He's a Captain and he was in the middle of some big man-hunt… He said I'd hear about it on the news later on in the year. The Army needed him back for the mission." Myriam put her long, auburn hair in a messy bun with the hair elastic she keeps around her wrist, "I drove him to the airport yesterday afternoon. When I got home… I was all alone. My brother was gone; there was no one else. It was just me in a house of ghosts." She felt a weight lift off her chest, "I couldn't take it. All I could hear was the tick-tock of that clock in the kitchen, you know the one with Arabic numerals?" Tim nodded, remembering the black faced, white numbered clock, "My heartbeat felt like it was echoing," She said quietly, "I went up to Adam's room and I just, froze. I lay on his bed for a while, still unmade from the week before. I walked around the house for I don't know how long and finally, I just sat on the couch in the family room."

Tim grabbed Myr's hand that was resting on the table and held it tight; he nodded. He understood.

"The silence was numbing," she admitted, "then," she continued, "I heard the music coming from a block or two away… and I don't know what went through my head. It was loud and there were people and I just," Myriam choked on the words, "Tim," she looked up and her eyes filled with tears that Tim could barely even see the hazel in them. Her shoulders trembled and she raised her free hand to quickly wipe the tears away.

Myriam felt an arm around her shoulders, Tim had come to her side of the booth and she rest her head in the crook of his neck, "How'd you deal with it?" She asked him.

Tim and Myriam, in their five years of friendship, had never spoken about Tim's misfortunes. They never talked about his mom's death, and other then at the funerals, Myriam never mentioned Tim's father or his girlfriend, and Tim never brought it up. She remembered when his dad died; it was right after the Gotham gang war a few years ago. Tim left Gotham after the funeral. He said he needed to be with his stepmom in Bludhaven. Adam drove Myriam down to visit him once.

"How did you deal with the silence?" she repeated.

Tim tightened his grip around her shoulders and pulled her in closer, "I—honestly, Myriam, I don't know."

The waitress, who's name appeared to be Bethany on her nametag, came by with the food. "Here you go, she placed the hot food in front of Tim and Myriam." I'm brewing you two a fresh pot of coffee so it'll be a few more minutes." She smiled so hard that the crow's feet around her eyes nearly reached her hairline.

"Thank you, Bethany." Tim smiled at her and she walked away, noticing the trembling girl in Tim's arms. Bethany gave Tim a "you're a good guy" wink or a "I won't say anything" wink. Tim has trouble telling the difference.

Tim walked Myriam home, "Let's watch a movie. Or better yet," he smiled and

a flash of memories soared through Myr's mind, "I haven't had a chance to watch Game of Thrones, let's have a marathon?"

Myriam removed her scarf and looked up at Tim. He grew a few inches, she noticed, since he now stood a head taller than her.

"You really need a haircut," she accidentally said out loud.

Tim smiled, "You know what, you're not the first one to say that." He replied.

Myriam's cheeks turned red, "The first three seasons are on Netflix," she tried to save herself.

"I didn't even think you could blush," Tim remarked and somehow, Myriam's cheeks became redder, "I mean, the olive skin tone…" he stopped talking and let out a sigh, "Let's watch this show. Ives couldn't stop talking about how amazing it is and about a 'Khaleesi'" Tim explained, unsure of what a _Khaleesi_ was.

They walked up to Myriam's house. Tim couldn't help but notice how much smaller it was from the Manor. There were no wings, no stables-turned-apartments attached, and there was definitely no cave beneath the structure.

As Tim set up the Netflix on the TV in the family room, Myriam made popcorn in the kitchen.

"All set!" Tim announced in excitement.

Myriam walked into the room with a bowl of popcorn and sat beside Tim on the couch. It was nearly 6 o'clock and Myriam could see the sun start to set in the reflection of the TV screen. As the first episode began to unravel the world of Westeros, Myriam found herself laying her head on Tim's chest, and Tim found his arm bringing Myr closer. It was as if their friendship paused while he was away and resumed at where it stopped.

The episode ended and as they were about to start the next one, Tim's phone rang.

"Yeah?" He said into the phone.

"Drake!" Myriam could hear someone yell on the other end.

"What do you want, Damian?" Tim sighed and got up from his seat on the couch. He walked to the window behind the couch. Myriam could hear more yelling coming from Damian. Tim calmly replied, "Damian, just shut up for a second. It's your dog. Deal with it." and shut the phone.

Myriam turned around to face Tim, "Who is Damian?"

Tim's furrowed eyebrows relaxed, "Oh, I didn't tell you? Turns out Bruce had a son he didn't know about." Tim said begrudgingly.

"Sounds like a brat," Myriam said sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Tim said typing into his phone. He sat back on the couch, "Listen, I 'm really sorry but I have to go." He did the same nervous smile; "I got a few emails from work about some investors coming into Wayne Enterprises over the weekend."

"Since when do you deal with Wayne Enterprises stuff?" Myriam questioned him.

"I guess you haven't seen the Wall Street Journal this week," he smile wryly, "Wayne Enterprises has a new Sheriff. Bruce handed the company to me."

"I had breakfast with a millionaire?" She laughed.

"I'm a billionaire, actually." He laughed with her, "Listen, I'm really sorry. I've only been CEO for like three days and these investors need to assured I can handle it, and…"

"Tim," Myriam cut him off, "It's okay. Go." She said genuinely, "I'll be okay. I'm still a little hung-over to be honest and could use some sleep," She tried to make him feel better.

He nodded and stood up, "Once they leave, I'll call you." He promised.

She stood up too, "Yeah, I know." She smiled and gave him a hug, "Thank you, Tim. For everything." She kissed his cheek and walked him to the door. As he walked down the driveway she yelled, "and you better not watch an episode without me!"

He turned and flashed a big smile, "Never." He winked.

….

"You can't outrun someone on a motorcycle, you know." Red Robin yelled at the thug and stopped the runner with a flying clothesline while driving his motorcycle. The thug fell to the ground trying to catch his breath. Red Robin turned the motorcycle around and circled the thug. "Why'd you kill Adam Farawi and Julius Cuntas?"

"I didn't kill anyone, yo!" The thug stuttered.

"You sure?" Red Robin lifted the man up by his collar, "Because I've got witnesses placing you in front of the Gotham Galleria with a gun in your hand." The man's feet dangled from the ground.

"Yo, man. I was there. I was there," he panicked, "But I didn't shoot nobody."

Red Robin pushed the man against the brick wall nearby, "Explain." He ordered through gritted teeth.

"Listen, I—" the man grabbed his face. "Man, it wasn't supposed to end that way." Red Robin lifted the man higher, "Julius was selling on our turf, man. We were told he was at the Galleria, so Markus and I, you know, we were sent after him. No one else was supposed to get hurt. Just him."

Red Robin threw the killer to the ground in disgust, "Since when did the Street Demonz start dealing?"

The thug crawled to the lay his back against the wall, "Dallas' dead. We got a new boss."

Red Robin picked the thug up again, "Who?" He barked.

"I ain't telling you nothin'!" The thug spat nervously.

Red Robin threw him to the ground again and took out a grapple gun from his belt. He aimed at the roof of the building above them and flew up.

"Yeah! That's right!" The thug cheered, "—better run!" As he started walking away, he felt something grab at his leg and he fell forward. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again he found himself staring at the street below him.

Red Robin grabbed at his collar, again, "Who's the new boss?" He hissed.

"Oh man, Imma puke, yo."

"Who is it?"

"Man, he gon' kill me if I tell you."

"This fall will kill you too," Red Robin sneered.

"Nah, man. Batman's crew doesn't kill." The thug tried to reason.

"Who said I work for Batman," Red Robin smirked and released the tension on the grapple until the thug screamed to the bottom of the street, then caught the grapple again and tied it to the fire escape. Red Robin dropped down to the ground and grabbed the thugs collar again, "Who is the new boss?"

"His name's Gumbol. Okay? He was Dallas' second." The thug panted while sweat dripped down his face.

"Where's Markus?"

"He left town. Said he had family in Metropolis."

Red Robin walked away.

"Yo! Where you goin'? Ain't you gon' let me down?" The thug begged.

"GCPD will come get you," Red Robin instructed.

….


	2. I know

"I do not appreciate you making Titus sound like an incapable dog," Damian sneered while Tim watched last Wednesday's surveillance tape from outside the Gotham Galleria.

Tim hummed, "okay," and focused on the two men with guns shooting down the sidewalk. He pressed some buttons on the computer and watched the tape again.

"What are you doing?" Damian asked training with Dick Grayson.

"Something's not right," Tim mumbled under his breath, "Street Demonz don't have a shoot out in the middle of the day."

"Tim, even you said that they had a new boss. Clearly he's not like Dallas." Dick tried to reason.

Tim turned in the swivel chair to look at his brothers, "But why send two thugs that don't even know how to aim a gun?" Tim challenged, "I looked into this Gumbol guy. No record of him and no one with same alias. He's clean." Tim turned back to the computer screen, "This guy is obviously smart… why would he send Markus Brown and Scott Campbell to take down Cuntas?" Tim typed more into the computer. He stopped and stared at the screen.

"Shit," Dick whispered noticing the screen. Damian, in Dick's moment of vulnerability, swung the escrima stick at Grayson and hit him in the rib, "Damn it, Damian." He hissed.

"This isn't good," Tim finally muttered and stood from the computer, "We need to warn the GCPD." He started walking to his motorcycle, "I need to go tell the Commissioner."

"Tim," Dick called, "Tim!" He yelled this time, "It's 7am. Go take a shower and sleep. I'll talk to Gordon. We won't let what happened last time happen again." Dick assured him.

Tim removed his helmet and looked at his older brother, "Dick, someone's playing chess while we're playing checkers. He or she is probably two steps ahead of us. Plus, you just finished an undercover case, you could use more rest than…"

"I'll handle it," Dick replied sternly. "Go rest,"

Tim scratched at his jaw, "Fine," he said in defeat and went up to the penthouse to shower and sleep.

When he woke up, he found a text message from Myriam.

_One of the shooters was brought in by GCPD today. _ _Name's Scott Campbell. Other guy is still MIA… I need your help."_ It read.

Tim immediately called her, "They caught'em?" he acted surprised.

"Can you come over?" She ignored his question.

"On my way,"

….

"Everything okay?" Tim asked her the moment she opened the front door.

Myriam walked Tim to the dining room, "I snuck into the precinct that's handling the shooting," She started.

"You 'snuck in'?"

"Don't ask me how but I got access to a computer," she continued.

"A cop's computer?" Tim questioned.

"The case has been handed over to Major Crimes," She ignored him, "On a Gotham scale, this was a small shooting… Why did they hand it over to Major Crimes?" She thought out loud, "Something's not right."

Tim wanted to tell her right then and there. He wanted her to know everything he knew. But he couldn't. He couldn't get her involved and he had to keep the secret.

"Myr?" He shook her shoulders, "Are you okay? Have you slept?"

"I'm fine," She waved off his concerns and sat down in a dining chair and Tim could see her rubbing her thumb and forefinger together mimicking a gambler rubbing a poker chip.

"I know that look," He said, "What are you thinking?"

She sat silently for a minute continuing a focused gaze on her fingers, "Come with me," She finally said.

She led Tim to the basement. To the right of the bottom of the stairs, Tim noticed a corner filled with soccer gear. He recognized it as Adam's. Tim remembered that Myriam's older brother played for the varsity team at the university.

Myriam opened the door opposite the soccer gear, and Tim's jaw dropped. "What the-?"

The once pigeon blue walls of the home-office were now plastered with newspaper clippings, photos, and sticky notes. All connected with different coloured string.

"Myr," Tim turned to her, "You did this?"

She nodded, "Look," She walked towards the wall and pointed to the photo of Julius Cuntas, "This guy played striker on my brother's team. He also dealt," she stated.

"How do you know that?"

"Adam told me," She answered, "So, I looked into him. No record. But, his brother," Myriam pointed to another photo connected with a blue string, "Francisco Cuntas is a lieutenant for the Kaza Cartel."

"I don't follow," Tim lied.

"The guy they brought into the GCPD today was named Scott Campbell. He was part of the Street Demonz gang." Myriam continued, "But, everyone knows Street Demonz don't touch drugs. So what beef do they have with the Cartel to gun down one of their street soldiers who is also the brother of one of their lieutenants?" Myriam pointed at various photos and news articles and rested her index finger on the photo of her brother, "Something's not right." She muttered.

"Myr," Tim pulled at her sweater, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

She shook her head, "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about this puzzle."

"How long have you been working on this?" He asked curiously, pointing at the wall.

"The minute I came home from dropping my dad off at the airport," she answered and looked back at the wall, "shit," she whispered and ran to the office computer a few steps away and started typing something into the search engine, "Shit, shit, shit," she kept repeating.

"What is it?"

"You were gone; but, a few weeks ago, this guy turned up in the river. The news article reported that it was a gang-related killing," Myriam pulled up the article and Tim skimmed through it, "The article also states that the victim was possibly part of the Hanoi Ten gang."

Tim read the by-line. Vicky Vale wrote the article, obviously. "Okay, what does this all mean, Myr?"

"I'm not sure yet," She stared back at the wall, "But the shooting that killed my brother… it wasn't just a simple drive-by. It's the beginning of something big."

Tim sat in the swivel chair in front of the computer and looked at Myriam. He focused on the way she continued rubbing her thumb and forefinger and staring at the photo plastered wall. He wanted to tell her that she was right. Something big was happening and the shooting that killed her brother was just a starting pistol. How could he help her without giving her his secret, or Dick's secret or Bruce's?

"What do you need me to do?" He finally asked her.

Myriam turned to Tim and stopped the gambling fingers, "I know who you are," she confessed.

"Huh?"

"I figured it out after you left last night. Well, I kind of always had a feeling that you weren't just Tim Drake, but last night I figured it out," she continued, "Everything kind of makes sense now too, really. The lame excuses, the dozing off in Calculus, the bruises, and broken bones. The disappearance of Robin when you left, and the appearance of Red Robin the same time you came back to Gotham… it all makes sense now."

"I'm not really sure what you're talking about, Myr." He stammered.

"Can you please just stop lying to me?" She hissed, "I need you to help me figure this out."

"Then, what?" Tim challenged, "You're going to go after whoever's organizing this and take them down yourself?" Tim's eyes widened when he realized what he said.

"You knew?" She asked angrily.

"I just figured it out this morning," He replied calmly, "They're trying to start a gang war so their competition takes themselves out so they can rule the Gotham underworld." He explained.

"What's your next step?"

"I'm going to—" Tim stopped, "No, no. I am _not_ telling you."

"I swear to God, Tim." Myriam pushed him in the chair, "If you don't tell me and let me help take this down—"

"Myr, you're not trained for this!"

"So train me!" She shouted back.

Tim got up from the seat; he zipped up his sweater and started walking to the door. "Can I depend on you to keep this conversation between us?" Tim could see her nostrils flaring, "I'll see what I can do." He added.

"They took my brother from me," She started crying, "If this gets bigger, who else are they going to kill? Is Ives going to be caught in another shooting on his way from the hospital? Is our school going to be attacked again?"

"I will never let that happen again, Myr." He hugged her, "I know how you feel. But, you can't just wear a mask and start throwing batarangs. I trained for months before I was allowed on the streets."

Myriam pushed herself away, "I'm not going to pretend that I can do what you guys can; but I know how to fight. I went to military camp every summer. I learned how to aim a gun, bow and arrow, and I learned how to fight. All I'm asking Tim, is for you to give me a chance to help." She explained.

"I'll see what I can do," he repeated and walked out the door.

…

"Dick, I don't know what do." Tim mumbled walking into the bunker.

"I told Gordon about the possible gang war. The GCPD are bracing themselves-"

"Not that," Tim interrupted, "Myriam figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

Tim pointed to his uniform in the display case, "That," he stated.

"Shit,"

"You're a fool, Drake." Damian entered the room in his Robin uniform, "You let her discover our secret."

"Well, I don't know if she knows everything… I just know that she knows who I am." Tim tried to defend himself. "She also figured out that a gang war is coming," Tim added almost with pride.

"How?"

"She had a pretty impressive web of intel," Tim admitted, "She even taught me a few things I was missing from the puzzle."

"Drake, if she could figure that out, she must dense to not have figured out who Robin and Batman are." Damian sneered.

"It's Batman and Robin, Damian." Dick corrected.

"Robin and Batman has better ring to it," Damian replied.

"What are you going to do?" Dick asked Tim while putting his uniform on.

"She wants to help,"

"You're going to let her?" Dick asked apprehensively.

"I don't know, Dick."

"She's come a long way; but, Stephanie 'died'" Dick did air quotes, "during the last gang war… do you want Myriam to—"

Tim groaned, "I do know that whether or not I allow Myr to help, she will."

"Think about it," Dick cautioned his little brother, "You going on patrol tonight?"

Tim nodded as he walked away to the elevator, "Yeah, I'll be out in a bit."

Tim took the elevator up to the penthouse in Wayne Tower. Stephanie and Barbara took over the cave at the Manor, and the boys control the bunker beneath Wayne Tower. He found Alfred in the kitchen cooking, "Alfred," Tim called.

"Good evening, Master Timothy. Will you be joining me for supper?" Alfred asked.

"I can't, Al." Tim replied, "Something—"

"Yes, Master Richard told me of the incoming battle," Alfred interrupted, "What in the heavens are you doing here?"

"I need your advice, Al."

"Is this about your friend? The one whose brother passed?"

Tim nodded, "She knows my secret and she knows that a war is coming. She… she wants to help."

"When I was in the Queen's Service, my team and I had been deployed to Vietnam." Alfred annotated, "We had found ourselves in a pub one night. Three men entered the pub violently and shot the woman serving us- in front of her husband. As the man cried holding his wife in his arms, the intruders stole the money he had made that night. Although we tried fighting the intruders, my men and I could not do very much. We had strict orders."

"That sounds like Gotham," Tim noted.

"Yes, well. Eventually, the husband gathered himself and grabbed the gun in the backroom. We tried to stop him. We told him we'd help him find the men that did this to him. He pushed us away and ran out the door. A few moments later we heard gunfire. The man had taken down two of the three intruders; however, he died in the process." Alfred described the events.

"I… I don't understand,"

Alfred smiled, "You're a very smart man, Timothy; you'll figure it out." And walked away.

"Great," Tim massaged his temples.

…

Myriam went up to her bedroom. She grabbed the darkest clothing she had from her dresser. A pair of black running tights, a black long sleeve dri-fit shirt and her black Nike trainers. She stepped in front of the mirror and examined the dark bags beneath her eyes, and her once radiant olive tone skin was now pale. She noticed a scratch on her nose. '_You have mom's nose_' Adam would always remind her of their mother who passed away when Myriam was 12. Myriam grabbed a black toque and left her house. It was nearly midnight in Gotham, and she knew that that's when the party started.

She had to get more information. Her first stop was in the East End, that's where the phonebook said Markus Brown lives.

She entered the apartment of Markus Brown through the window. It was destroyed. Broken glass, lamps, and papers thrown across the apartment, and the sofa was missing its cushions. _Someone was here looking for something_, Myriam deducted. _And Markus was either taken or fled._

She searched around in hopes to find something that could help her figure out who the puppet master was in this whole situation. Besides old pizza and beer bottles, she found nothing. She exited the same way she entered and jumped to streets. When her feet landed on the ground, she saw two men standing on the side of the alley heating up beside a trash can fire pit.

"Hey!" Myriam called out to them, "You guys know who lives in apartment 4B?" She points to the window she just crawled out of a few moments ago.

"We don't know nothin'," One man answered disgruntled.

Myriam sighed, "You sure?" She asked again, "Because, I think one of you knows something."

"Listen, lady, we stand here and try to be warm. We don't intervene." The other man said.

"I respect that. But you see, the man in that apartment building killed my brother. I need him to answer to what he did." She explained, "So, if you know where he went or who trashed his apartment, I'd really appreciate that."

"Was you in his apartment?" The first man questioned, "'Cuz ya' see, that's called breaking and entering and that don't seem right."

"We don' appreciate people breaking and entering into other people's homes," the other man added, "You oughta leave."

"Listen," Myriam replied impatiently, "I need to know where he went. You guys have a camp set up out here so you must have seen someth—"

"We said LEAVE!" the first man yelled.

"I'm not leaving until I get answers," Myriam replied stubbornly.

"The gentlemen asked you to leave," A woman in black leather appeared on the fire escape of Markus Brown's apartment.

"And I said I'm not leaving until I get answers," Myriam repeated, "I don't believe I'm breaking any laws." She bluffed.

"Honey, you're in the East End, my word is law." The woman hissed.

"I'm. Not. Leaving."

The woman dropped from the fire escape and Myriam could see the silhouette of the cat ears, "I don't like repeating myself. So get the hell out of my home!" She roared.

"One of your people killed my brother, I'm not leaving until I get answers!" Myriam replied.

The woman took a step forward, "Who?"

"Markus Brown," Myriam answered, "He lives up there. He's not home and his place has been trashed. I need to know where he went, Catwoman."

The woman paused in deep thought.

"Follow me," She ordered Myriam.

Myriam followed her up the fire escape and to the top of the building—Catwoman had to help her with the last step.

"You've got spunk, kid." Catwoman told her.

"Thanks?"

"Take a seat," Catwoman pointed to a crate on the roof.

Myriam sat down.

"What's your name?"

"Myriam."

"Markus has been missing since last week," Catwoman told her, "You think he killed your brother?"

"According to the police, he did." Myriam answered, "It was in the shooting outside of the Galleria last week."

"Hmm… yes, I heard of that. I'm sorry to hear your brother died." Catwoman paced slyly across the roof, "Why not let the police handle Markus?"

Myriam looked at the leather-clad woman. Her lips scarlet red and her bangs showed from beneath her head-covering mask. She, obviously, doesn't resort to the police for her problems.

"I need to leave," Myriam stood up.

"I asked you a question." Catwoman said angrily sensing Myriam's distrust towards her.

"And I decided not to answer it," Myriam began walking back to the fire escape.

"Get back here!" Catwoman ordered.

"I've got work to do, lady." Myriam cursed.

Catwoman threw her whip around Myriam's arm and pulled her back, "I do not appreciate disrespectful kids who come onto my End and bother _my_ citizens."

Myriam removed the whip, "You're psycho!" She stood up hurriedly, "And, I don't appreciate people who don't mind their own business!" She yelled and ran towards Catwoman and threw a punch that was quickly dodged.

"You can't beat me," Catwoman dropped and swept her foot across Myriam's leg. Before Catwoman could succeed, Myriam jumped and did a back handspring to dodge it. Myriam sprung back to a defensive stance—knees bent, feet shoulder-width apart, and fists up.

As Catwoman began to charge forward, she was pulled back by a figure behind her.

"What the hell is going on here?" Batman growled.


	3. Cat Got Your Tongue

"I'm handling it, "Catwoman hissed.

"You," Batman pointed at Myriam, "Go home. Now."

"I'm here to get answers and I'm not leaving until—"

"Now." Batman snarled.

Myriam's eyes widened. At first, Dick thought it was fear; he soon realized it was anger.

"No!" She yelled.

"This is none of your concern, Batman." Catwoman added almost gleefully looking at Myriam.

Batman sighed and grabbed Myriam by the arm, "Let's go. Now. I know what you're looking for and the answers aren't here."

Robin walked out from the shadows with a smirk, "Women," he sighed.

Myriam analyzed the man in the cowl. The way he forced his jaw to clench, and how he stood ready to fly if he needed to; but most prominently was the lightness in his eyes—noticeable even through the eyelets of his cowl. Myriam had seen Batman during the attack on Louise E. Grieves and his eyes were angry, "Fine," Myriam snapped. The Bat in front of her now was not the same Batman.

Batman wrapped his arm around her waist and swung to the ground, Robin following suite.

"Robin, make sure Ms. Farawi gets home safely," said Batman.

Robin nodded.

"Dick," Myriam whispered, "please." She pleaded.

"Myriam, it's not safe. We'll talk later but now, you need to go home." Dick explained soothingly. He embraced her in his arms, "I'm sorry about Adam." He kissed her forehead.

Myriam followed the young vigilante to the Batmobile. Batman swung back to the top of the building.

The car ride with Robin was quiet. Myriam knew who he was beneath the mask. Well, she knew _of him_. From the way Tim talked about him, she preferred a quiet ride.

…

"Selina attacked her?" Tim asked, concern etched across his face.

"Not really sure who hit first," Dick explained while putting away the cowl, "But, Myriam was holding her ground pretty impressively. I think Selina smiled when Myriam wouldn't listen to me."

"Jesus," Tim muttered, "Did you tell Catwoman about the gang war?"

Dick nodded, "I explained to her the Myriam situation too… she wants her."

"What?"

"She said that if we don't take her, she wants to train her as her own," Dick continued.

"Shit," Tim groaned.

"What do you want to do?" Dick asked him.

"Dude, you're Batman. You call the shots, remember?" Tim reminded him.

"No way. She's your friend. Your responsibility." Dick raised his arms in surrender, "By the way, she knows who we _all_ are."

"Peachy," Tim sighed.

Tim stood in silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll go deal with this," He finally said.

…

"We need to talk," Tim announced when Myriam opened the door.

"Oh, Tim. How are you? Come on in." Myriam said quickly with her finger against her lips.

"Tim?" Zoanne peaked from the family room,

Tim's face turned red, "Zoanne?"

Zoanne, Tim's ex-girlfriend, walked towards the door; she looked happy and Tim was expecting a hug for his return. Instead, he received a flat palm against his left cheek. He held it as it stung.

"A fucking text message?" She says angrily, "And you disappear! I had feelings for you, did you know that?" She was angry. Very angry.

"I know, Zo. I'm sorry!" Tim said genuinely, "But, my life was imploding on itself and I had to fix it. I am really, very sorry." He repeated with his hand still against his red cheek.

"But it's better now that you have _Tam?" _Zoanne spat the name in disgust.

"Zo… it's not—"

"Fuck you, Tim." Zoanne spat, "Myr, I'm going to head out. Text me if you need anything and we'll wait up for you for the study group at 4 o'clock." Zoanne's tone changed to a sweet, happy chime.

"Sounds good, Zo. Thanks." Myriam replied and gave her friend a hug.

"Bye, Zoanne." Tim said hopefully as she walked out the door. Zoanne rolled her eyes and slammed the door.

"Well, that went just as bad as I expected," Myriam snickered, "Who's 'Tam'?"

Tim glanced at Myr, "For someone with a strong understanding of what's going on in the shadows, you really suck at following mainstream news." Tim answered the 'Tam' question, "You couldn't have given me a warning?" Tim rubbed at his cheek.

"If you hadn't announced yourself at the door I would have been able to pretend you were Ms. Dunkin with another casserole or something." Myriam led Tim into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas for his face, "She hit pretty hard." She stated.

"I've had worse." Tim brushed it off, "I heard you got in a fight last night too." Tim grabbed Myr's arm and examined the bruise from Catwoman's whip.

"It's fine," she pulled her arm away, "Dick told you?"

Tim nodded, "You really pissed off Catwoman, eh?"

"She needed to calm down!" Myriam raised her hands, "Lady was psychotic!"

"She has her reasons. You were on _her _turf." Tim explained.

"You here to lecture me?" she asked in annoyance.

Tim shook his head, "No," he looked at what she was wearing. It was a late Sunday morning and she was still in her pyjama pants and baggy shirt. "Go get changed. We need to talk somewhere a little more… appropriate. Wear your track and field gear or something."

"Where are we going?"

"The Batcave." Tim smirked.

"No way!" Myriam exclaimed.

"Well, technically the Bat-bunker… Batcave is being used by Batgirl." He clarified.

…

"Wow," Myriam's jaw-dropped when she took off the helmet and jumped off Tim's Ducati, "This is crazy."

"Myriam," Someone called out from the other side of the bunker. Dick walked out of the gymnasium with a towel around his neck.

"Dick?" Myriam smiled.

"Welcome to my kingdom," He spread his arms and embraced her, "It's good to see you without Catwoman trying to kill you."

"Likewise," Myriam smiled and hugged him back, "Haven't seen you in a while. What has one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors up to these days?"

"Is this the girl you two were so concerned about?" Someone else clicked from the gymnasium Dick had just walked out from, "Pitiful." The little boy rolled his eyes.

"Dealing with this kid," Dick sighed, "Damian, what did we say about hospitality?"

"Tsk." The kid entered the elevator, "A little tip: don't fight someone you can't handle." He advised and disappeared.

"He looks so much like Mr. Wayne," Myriam muttered astonishingly.

"Yeah, he does." Dick's eyes dropped to the ground and his face began to mash together, "They act the same too," He forced his eyes to look up at Myriam and grinned. "Come on. We have a lot to talk about." Dick led her to a table with chairs surrounding it.

"What's going on?" Myriam asked Tim suspiciously.

"Take a seat, Myr." Dick pointed to a chair that looks like it was stolen from a Wayne Enterprises boardroom, "Before we begin, we want to know what you know." Dick opened the floor for her to speak as he paced back and forth.

She explained everything. The gang connections to the murders that have happened across Gotham over the past three weeks, the odd behaviour of the Street Demonz, and the tension at every street corner that echoes that of the last gang war.

"How do you know about Julius Cuntas' involvement? We couldn't find him in our systems but we did find his brother."

"Julius played striker on the Gotham University varsity soccer team. He and Adam are—_were_ teammates and pretty good friends. That's why they were at the mall together. One time, when Julius was over, Adam came to me and told me that if Julius offered me anything that I were to go straight to Adam," She explained, "He never tried to sell me anything."

"That would explain the emergence of _syn_ on campus," Tim noted to Dick.

"What's _syn?"_

"It's a new synthetic drug that showed up on Gotham University campus a few months ago." Dick explained. "So, Julius, a dealer for Kaza and brother to a Kaza lieutenant was killed by some Street Demonz thugs. A few weeks before, a soldier for the Hanoi Ten gang was found in the river. Last night, a Galante soldier was found in a trashcan."

"Galante? Was the body found in the East Side?" Myriam questioned.

"Yeah, a few alleys west of where you and Catwoman had your little fight," Dick said.

"This is getting dirty… they attacked Galante on their own turf," Myriam muttered, "Who's controlling the board?"

"We have a few possible puppet masters," Tim answered and turned to the computer monitor on the wall behind him, "Penguin is always a suspect and none of his people have been hit yet, Golden Dragons is possible but they just signed the Neon Knights contract a few days ago making them an unlikely suspect. Mannheim has been spotted leaving The Stacked Deck nightclub after being driven out of Gotham over a year ago which makes Intergang a possibility."

"Who'd benefit the most from another gang war?" Dick challenged.

Myriam searched around the bunker for some kind of inspiration. She looked around the steel boardroom table; there were seven empty seats.

"I don't want to be rude but shouldn't Mr. Wayne be involved in this discussion? I mean, this is a full-fledged gang war waiting to happen…"

Tim followed Myr's glance to the empty seat at the head of the table, "Uhh. Bruce…"

"Bruce is uhh," Dick tried to take over from Tim but the words choked in his throat, "Bruce, technically, died last year during the crisis. Darkseid 'killed him.' But, Tim found out that he's actually floating through time—_that sounds ridiculous out loud—" _Dick admits, "The Justice League is working on a way to get him home."

Myriam looked to Tim and grabbed his hand, "Is that why you left?"

He nodded slowly.

"I—" She wanted to cry. Her best friend lost his father, again, and left town in some hopes to find him. And all Myriam could think about was why he would leave like that without telling anyone. How selfish it was of him to leave everyone worried like that. She was so angry that he left.

"I understand."

Tim's face lightened, the permanent looking wrinkles that covered his forehead began to disappear and his eyes opened wide. Someone understood him. Someone had it in them to see the situation in his eyes and understand why he did what he did. In those words, Myriam forgave him.

. . . .

"Master Richard, the signal." Alfred entered the bunker from the same elevator Damian had exited from earlier.

Tim and Dick look up from the computer, "On it, Alfie." Dick replied and immediately called the Commissioner.

"What's going on, Commissioner?" he asked over his headset.

"Batman, ten armed men entered the East End Clinic. They've released a few nurses and some patients but it looks like they're looking for someone. Could this be related to what you told me?"

"On my way, Commissioner." Batman hung up and nodded at Tim, "Myriam, we need to go. Stay here and work on the puzzle."

Myriam shook her head, "This might be related. I'm coming."

"No." Tim said sternly, "You're not ready."

"I can't just sit here—" Myriam began to yell.

"Listen," Dick stepped in, "You've got a temper you need to work on and you're not ready. Sit tight and figure out what the hell is going on." Dick's cheery voice turned into a growl.

Myriam folded her arms across her chest, "Fine."

"Oracle," Tim called over his comm.-link, "Can you find out if anyone special is staying at Dr. Thompkin's clinic?" He pulled on his cowl and thanked the person on the other end.

Dick turned to the computer and pressed some buttons, "You're now authorized to use the computer. It takes time to get used to but it's voice-command too."

She nodded.

Batman and Red Robin jumped into the Batmobile and drove off.

"Wait, the signal? What time is it?" Myriam turned to Alfred.

"It's nearly 9 o'clock at night, Miss Farawi."

"Shit!" Myriam pulled her phone from her sweater pocket and found several text messages and missed calls from Zoanne and Ives. She was supposed to meet them several hours ago.


End file.
